


Every Last First

by Areiton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, it is fluffy, ok it's also sad, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 23:53:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10752393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Somewhere along the way, Cas stopped being an ally, a friend.Now, he was simply everything.





	Every Last First

The diner is like a million others, like the last one they'd sat in, three nights ago, over two slices of pie and Sam sleeping in the corner of the booth, all of them exhausted by the hunt and Cas was grinning at something Dean said. 

It was the grin that made him stop, pie forgotten for a moment as he stared at the angel. 

It’s not different. Not really. He’s sat in a million diners, has flirted with a thousand waitresses, over hundreds of slices of pie. 

There is nothing special or different or shocking about this time. 

But the waitress slips him her phone number and Dean doesn’t want it. 

He doesn’t want to see that smile on Cas’s face flicker and fall, before he forces it back, dimmer, disappointed. 

So he ignores the number and the bill, tosses a fifty on the table, and drags his sleepy brother and the bewildered angel after him. 

That was three nights ago, and he hasn’t been able to shake it. The feeling that Cas is it. 

Cas has always been special, slid into their lives like he’d always belonged, a sometimes clumsy, too close powerful ally who became the best friend Dean hadn’t realized he’d needed. 

But it was more than that. Had become more than that over the course of god knows how many apocalypses, and deaths, curses and fallen angels. Once he was an ally and a friend, and that brief, horrible time when he was an enemy. 

But then he’d become essential. The kind of needed that Sam was, filling him up in ways that Sam  _ couldn’t _ . 

Somewhere along the way, Cas stopped being an ally, a friend. 

He was simply everything. 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re sitting side by side, at the counter of a diner and Castiel is stirring sugar into his coffee. He’s smiling, that absent minded thing he gives more now. 

Dean can’t remember when he first noticed it. It was after Cas moved into the bunker. After he started to believe it, when Dean caught him making messes in the kitchen and stealing the last cup of coffee with a barely grunted  _ good morning _ . 

After Cas believed that stay meant  _ stay.  _ Meant,  _ you belong.  _

The smiles came easier, then. For all of them. 

He’s smiling now, and Dean remembers, a lifetime ago, sitting at a counter like this, a girl name Hailey, with blonde hair and a shy smile, stirring hot chocolate, sneaking looks at him. 

He remembers leaning across the sliver of space that separated them, hooking a hand around her neck and tugging her into his first kiss. 

And it settles, easy, over him. The thing he’s been trying to figure out. 

“Do you know I had my first kiss at a place like this?” 

Castiel kind of flinches, but he settles again, the smile slipping only a little, before he nods. “You do seem fond of them.” 

“It was a good kiss. Kinda sloppy, but first kisses usually are.” 

Cas makes a noise, small and noncommittal. 

“Had a lot of firsts in diners.” Dean adds, glancing around. 

Cas sighs, and stands. “I’ll be outside.”

“Cas,” Dean snatches at him, but the angel is still an angel, still wily and he twists out of reach, out the door, leaving Dean with empty air and the disapproving stare of their waitress. He sighs and takes a little time, paying the bill, making his way out. Giving Cas the room he's demanding. 

But not too much of it. 

Cas is  sitting on the Impala, his shoulder slumped, hands dangling between his knees as he squints into the blue bright sky. 

He looks heartbreakingly lonely and it sets something off in his gut, something low and aching. He looks skittish, like he’ll bolt if Dean isn’t careful. 

“Cas?” he murmurs, coming up beside him. 

“Go away, Dean,” he says, without looking away from the sky, his voice weary. 

The kind of weary that reminds Dean of Purgatory, a hopeless kind of exhaustion that  _ hurts _ to hear. He leans against the car and pitches his voice low and soothing, gritty gravel, “C’mon, Cas. Why you runnin from me?”  

There’s a tension in the angel and a fury that vibrates through him, streaks the air with the scent of summer storms, before it dissipates. “I’m not,” he sighs. “I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 

Dean hums and Cas slides off the car. They’re close. Close enough that Dean can feel the soft exhale of Cas’s breath, brushing over his lips, can see the way his eyes catch the light, the way the blue gets deeper near the whites, the way his pupils are blown wide. 

Can see the resigned sorrow in them. 

He wants to step closer. Wants to catch Castiel’s hips in his hands and drag him the half inch that separates them, wants to wipe away that sadness. 

Castiel steps away from him and lets his lips hitch into something that is almost a smile. 

It frustrates the hell outta Dean, but he gives the angel his space, nods agreeably when he says, “We should head back to the bunker.” 

He watches Cas skirt Baby, slipping into the front seat with an ease that tugs a smile from him. “Yeah. Ok Cas. Let’s go home.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The bunker is about twenty minutes from town, out in the middle of nowhere, which is perfect. He hums softly to himself, driving and ignoring Cas, giving the guy the space he’s all but screaming he needs. 

And Cas relaxes, the tension from the diner draining away until. 

“You know, I told you that for a reason.” Dean says, conversational. 

The response in Cas is electric. He tenses, and his voice is sharp and cutting, “Did you somehow miss that I  _ do not wish to discuss this?”  _

“Oh no, sweetheart, that came across loud and clear,” Dean says cheerfully, steering Baby on the side of the road. He flinches as the rocks ping along the side. Cas bolts as soon as the car is in park, and Dean scrambles to catch him, darting across the empty field as the angel runs from him. 

He’s content to let Cas lead this merry chase. It’s his turn, after all. And he’s not an idiot--if he catches the angel, it’ll be when and if the guy gives up and allows it. 

He’s an  _ angel _ , after all. 

When Cas staggers to a stop, Dean deliberately keeps going, slams into him, rolling at the last minute to catch the brunt of the fall. 

As his back slams into the still frozen ground, he considers that this is stupid and he’s really too old for this shit. 

“What do you  _ want,  _ Dean?” Cas snarls. 

“You idiot,” Dean breathes, fondly, and pulls him down by the nape of his neck. 

Dean has kissed a thousand girls, in a million dinners, over a hundred cups of coffee and pie. 

But he’s only kissed one angel in a snowy field under a blindingly bright sky. 

Cas makes a noise in his throat as Dean kisses him, a gentle brush of lips, this startled little noise that edges toward panic before Dean licks at his lip, turns the kiss from gentle to teasing. 

“Dean,” he breathes, and Dean nips at his full lower lip the lip he’s been watching for what feels like a lifetime, what has been too fucking long. 

“Dean,” pleading and confused and so damn hopeful it breaks Dean right open. 

“You aren’t my first kiss, Cas,” Dean whispers, his fingers moving restless along the angel's neck, stroking down his back to the place he always thought his wings should be. “Won’t be the first person I fuck, either. But I sure as fuck want you to be my last.” 

The noise Cas makes then. 

It’s broken, sunlight on shattered glass, this piercingly beautiful thing that Dean leans up to catch, and he drinks it down as he kisses Cas. His last first kiss. 

 

* * *

 

 

A few months later--and Sam is glaring from under his ridiculous hair because he  _ told _ Dean it was too fucking soon--they’re in a diner. 

It looks like a million diners he’s been in, right down to the fucking coffee Cas is pouring too much sugar into, and the pie that looks really fucking good, thanks. 

It feels familiar and comforting, and as close to home as any place but Baby and the bunker ever has, especially with Sam frowning and Castiel pressed against him, a too warm, smiling presence at his side, right where he belongs. 

Dean pushes the tiny box across to him and Cas gives it a quizzical look before looking back at Dean. 

He shrugs and smiles. Leans in as Cas slips the ring on his finger with a smile he’s getting used to seeing, one that is bright and wide and gummy, brilliantly blinding. “Love you, angel,” he murmurs. 

It’s not the first time he’s said it, whatever the fuck Sam might think. 

But it’s the last first time. 

All of those belong to Castiel, now. Every last first belongs to him. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fluffy angst is what happens when your friends write emotionally traumatizing stories.   
> Blame them. For everything.


End file.
